Our Story
by Lychenne Laki
Summary: Forgotten for 51 weeks of the year, all orphan children pay homage to the great heroes of their time. From the smashed lands of Draenor to the dusty backstreets of Orgrimmar. But are the heroes all they seem? Hungry for glory and gold and murderers all.


Our story starts upon the sun bleached cobbles of a faraway city. The sun itself is little more than an orb in a cloudless sky. Far below, the sands of the desert drift into doorways, into people's eyes as they wilt in the heat of another summer.

The shadows were at their shortest as, hopping from foot to foot, Rhyolite made her way through the market.

"Ouch! Ouch! Darn!" she bellowed, skipping through the throng of shoppers with nothing on her feet. The sheer heat of the stone slabs scorched her thick soles and short green toes. Her state of poverty was not only evident in her lack of footwear – the rags that clothed her showed it too. A torn leather shrug hung from her bony shoulders, and a threadbare pelt covered her modesty. Not that a dusty green street urchin had anything much to hide, especially at such a tender age. But the other citizens ignored her, the burly city guards watched her warily, and the highborn children she chanced upon shunned her publicly. Just as well, she didn't want any of them talking to Matron and telling on her. It was better she was not seen.

Everyone else seemed so tall! All she had to do was slip through that warriors legs, round the bright blue silks of a wealthy orc's flowing robe and dodge the meat wagon coming the other way. A pinch here, a shove there –

"Excuse me sir, I'm sorry sir" she babbled, after striking a heavily muscled guard hard in the side. His thick black locks came down over a jutting forehead to cover his eyes, and by the time he'd swept it away, young Rhyolite was gone. As an experienced pickpocketer, speed and subtlety were everything and in her rough little fist the rewards of her work were growing warm and slippery with sweat.

A bundle of coins – all copper – glinted in the sun as she stopped to count the winnings. Some had been given, some had been begged for and those last few had been stolen. She hoped Matron would not find out about those either. She shifted further into the shadows. Hiding behind a brazier wasn't maybe the best idea especially in the heat of the day, but should a guard catch her . . . she shuddered.

Slipping back into the flow of traffic, she repeated the amount of money over and over in her head. Not being very good at maths, she hoped the trader would give her a good deal – the idea of bartering baffled her. All the grown-ups that passed through mentioned the trade in Orgrimmar whilst talking to Matron. And all the adventurers in their shiny suits and magical swords that patted her on the head came miles to buy and sell here. She thought she liked the adventurers, but they said things she didn't understand, and talked in funny voices when they thought she wasn't around. She wished she had someone here to help her with this task – Braugh was reading and wouldn't leave the orphanage, and Grash was too scared.

Water rushed by under her feet as she continued up into the Valley of Wisdom. The nasty wooden bridge gave her a spinter in her big toe, and she vowed that she'd jump into that clear blue water as soon as the job was done. The crowd thinned the further up the hill she went, as people went left and right to the auctioneers or the bank. On the side of the path an old Tauren male was skinning a deer – but she was used to the stange cow-people by now. Matron had told her not to be scared and Braugh had laughed at her and told her not to be rude. Besides, one of them had something very special to sell to her today . . .

A rat. A great big rodent was what she'd come here to buy, as hairy and nasty as possible with a long tail and beady eyes. The ones in the city gutters were too small by half – all scrawny and hardly scary at all. No, for this her greatest prank so far she needed the hugest, meanest rat monster that had ever terrorized the sewers.

"A rat veteran" she giggled and showed her tiny tusks.

"Rat veteran is it?" Owato muttered, shaking his head. "If this little beast ends up in someone's blankets, they're coming straight to me"

"No sir" Rhyolite simpered, putting on her sweetest grin and flashing the money she'd come by. They were inside the tent atop the hill, the roof and walls were made of skins, sewn together and hung around wood frames. Different to the brick buildings she'd gotten used to living in, and it did smell a little musty and didn't keep out the sand.

"Please, Mr Owato please?" she knew he liked being called Mister. She'd read it in a history book in lessons. She flicked her ash white locks and watched the oil shine in his long black plaits. Her heart hammered in her chest, if he refused to sell to her, he'd soon be on the road to the orphanage to hand her in. And then everyone would laugh at her failed practical joke. She'd never failed to impress yet, but this was the biggest one so far. And life at the orphanage was close to unbearable in the summer – with all the screaming babes, and fleas and the endless heat.

The man outside was still skinning the poor deer as she skipped back out of the hut belonging to the General Goods crew. Her head felt as light as a feather but so did her coin purse. A week of scrubbing the orphanage floor, a few days of begging and a couple of pick pocketing stunts had earned her a little over 30 coppers. All gone now. Still as silent as a shadow she tip toed her way back into the Drag, where the smells of cooking bread filled the air. Soon she was peering through the door of her home, spying that the coast was clear before sprinting across the threshold, and stashing the squirming rat deeply inside Matron's pillowcase. Almost as if nothing had happened, she sauntered to the corner where all the toys were stacked and begin aimlessly playing with the big blue robot toy.

Hours later when the others returned, she was still there – playing innocently. Grash gave her a cold look as she passed by, and Braugh sat down heavily – whispering that no one had missed her while she was gone. All was well.

Her friends had been a great help. When they all painted their faces and pretended to have the Pox the uproar they caused was amazing. Or the fake love notes Grash left for Tosamina during the love festival. Matron's helper had gone all doe eyed and wouldn't stop talking about her long lost love, while Ryolite and Braugh roared with laughter and clapped their friend on the back. There had been fake brain stew masterminded by Braugh himself and served up to the other children on Brewfest while the grown-ups were still nursing their headaches. They'd gone through a great long list, including the old-fashioned pooh-sticks and knock knock ginger. And now their hearts were in their mouths again as they waited for another prank to take off.

The scents and smells of cooking meat on the air lingered and blew through the doorless shack. Even though she knew she'd be sent to bed with no dinner if she was caught out, she couldn't help wondering what was cooking.

"I'm too nervous to eat" Grash squeaked, reading her friend's mind.

"I'm too hot" Braugh added, "and besides this foreign man gave me some chicken legs to eat outside"

"You shouldn't eat the stuff they give you – you can't trust them" Rhyolite chided him,

"Oh and why not. Just cos you don't like em"

"You're scared of them" Grash chipped in, pointing a childish finger and laughing. Rhyolite could have thrown the toy at them.

"I am so not scared!" she shouted, jumping to her feet, and most of the other waifs and children looked up. "Tomorrow I'm going out and I'm going to talk to one of them, and anyone that doesn't believe me can - "

"Now now child, you're scaring the others" Tosamina had crept over and her shadow was taking the fire out of Rhyolite's eyes. With a poke of her tongue and a stamp of her foot she sat down again.

"It still stands." She muttered, more to herself than to her closest friends. "I don't trust them, but everyone else seems to bow down and worship them."

"Why not" Braugh whispered, now that he knew Tosamina was nearby . . . listening. "They find us food, they defend our lands. They're good people"

"I'm still not sure" she shrugged. Silence reigned for a few more precious seconds…

And beyond the back curtain of Matron's private room came a blood curdling shriek.


End file.
